Trifles
by acertainzest
Summary: A collection of short, mostly unrelated pieces written on tumblr as prompt responses. Some may contain mild Season 8 spoilers.
1. 8x07 kiss happens after 3x13

**Author's Note:** While I'm working on getting my Castle Ficathon story ready to start posting, I thought I'd upload some short prompt responses that I've recently done on tumblr.

* * *

 _Prompt_ : " _8x07 kiss happens pre caskett. (Like, Kate comes over and when she turns around Castle just kisses her. Or vise Versa)"_

 _Setting: 3x13 "Knockdown," before the final scene_

Castle stood in his loft, whiskey glass in hand, blearily contemplating the day's events. His knuckles throbbed gently inside their bandage, but the pain hardly registered any more. His mind was only on Beckett and the intense sense-memories of the kiss they had exchanged earlier that night in a dark alley, a dumb idea born out of desperation to save their friends and colleagues. With Ryan and Esposito safe, the kidnappers behind bars, and his hand securely bandaged, Castle was free to lose himself in the smell, feel, and taste of Beckett that seemed to linger all over his skin.

A soft knock on the door startled Castle out of unfocused contemplation of the bottom of his glass. Blinking, he set it down and went to open the door, startled to find his partner on the other side.

"Beckett?"

"Hey," she said softly, giving him a tentative smile. "Your hand any better?"

"Oh…yeah." He flexed it lightly inside the bandage. "Fine. Everything okay?" He gave a sweeping arm gesture to invite her in.

"Fine," she echoed, lifting a paper bag into view. "Um, we kind of missed dinner in all the excitement, so I thought you might be hungry." She stepped over the threshold with a shy smile, handing him the bag as she walked past him.

"Remy's," he exclaimed, "perfect." The smell coming from the bag was delicious, but not nearly enough so to distract him from the unexpected presence of Beckett, here, in his loft, so late at night.

"Um, Rick," she said as she turned back toward him, "I just wanted-"

He cut her off with the sudden press of his mouth against hers, feeling her gasp and tense up as his free arm came up around her back. But she didn't pull away. Her lips softened under his, and when he broke contact briefly to take a breath, she was the one who leaned into him, her mouth seeking, finding his again.

He kissed her slowly, deliberately, and heard her make that same noise again: the tiny moan he had heard in the alley, which would surely figure in many of his dreams from this night forward. That, and the sweet taste of her mouth, the touch of her tongue to his, the feel of her body pressed against him–

But she pulled away, of course, and blinked at him, saying a little hoarsely, "Wait…"

"It's okay," he murmured, stepping back, holding the bag of food up like a barrier between them. "I mean, I'm sorry." He had just needed so badly to know what it would be like: to kiss her without pretense, without fear, without their friends' lives hanging in the balance.

Now he knew, and he suddenly wasn't sure he wanted to. Because she was with someone else, and that was all going to be so much harder on Castle now. He sighed a little and opened the bag.

"Did you bring me curly fries?" he asked, and watched her relax ever so slightly.

"Of course," she said softly. "And extra pickles on your burger."

"My hero," he smiled, and backed away.

* * *

 _The next "chapter" will be a continuation of this...stay tuned._


	2. Continuation of previous

**Author's Note:** This is a continuation/sequel to the scene in the previous chapter. **aspenmusing** requested: "a second part from Kate's perspective when post-kiss she breaks up with Josh and comes back."

* * *

 _Prompt: (see Author's Note above)_

 _Setting: after 3x13 "Knockout," in the evening, after Beckett visited Lockwood in prison._

She was back outside his door again the next night, fuming. Her forehead was drawn down in a scowl before she even lifted her hand to knock.

The moment he opened the door, she blurted out, "Damn it, Castle, what the hell are you doing?"

"Beckett?" He just stood there, blinking in surprise. His shirt was partially unbuttoned, revealing a slice of well-toned chest with a dusting of soft hairs. Desire surged up in her throat and mingled with the anger, propelling her forward.

"You can't do that," she snapped, stalking through the door and into his loft. Her hands curled into fists by her sides. "You can't - I can't take it."

Castle carefully closed the door and turned to study her for a moment, while she stood there glowering. "I did say it was a dumb idea," he said at last, quietly.

She huffed out an angry breath and her hand came up sharply, arcing toward his face. He flinched backward instinctively. But she stopped the movement before it could become a punch or a slap, and instead her hand curled around the back of his neck. Before she had a chance to think about it she was hauling his face down, smashing their mouths together. It was hard and angry, and she groaned with the pleasure of it. His hands were rough on her hips when he tugged her against him, harder than he had done yesterday in the alley. Her whole body flushed hot with arousal.

"I broke up with Josh," she rasped into his mouth, scratching her fingernails through the soft hairs at the back of his neck. She felt the startled breath that he took in, and he pulled back to look at her face, his jaw slack with astonishment.

"Kate?"

Impatient, she pressed herself back against him. His whole body twitched when she bit down on his lip, and then she sucked it between hers, rolling her hips. She felt his hands on her upper arms, gripping just tightly enough to be slightly painful. Goosebumps rippled out along her skin from those two points of contact, delicious.

"Why are you mad at me?" Castle asked, breathless.

"I'm not." Her blood fizzed through her veins. She dipped her mouth to that triangle of bare chest that had caught her eye; kissed it, licked it, nipped until he groaned and pulled her away.

"You're angry, Beckett."

"Because you won't leave me alone," she burst out, and felt in her gut the absurdity of it, when she had shown up on his doorstep thrice now in two days. But he just nodded.

"You don't need a plucky sidekick," he said, pulling her against him again, one hand under her thigh, wrapping it around his leg. His hands were hot and demanding on her body, a new side of him that she wanted to see more of – the side she had seen yesterday, crouched above Lockwood with bloody knuckles.

"Partner," she got out, and then could only moan as his mouth descended on her throat.

"Partner," he repeated, and pulled her into the bedroom.


	3. Married Sexting

_Flash-Fiction Challenge: write a prompt response in an hour or less_

 _Prompt: Married Sexting_

* * *

Halfway through the afternoon, Kate Beckett's phone buzzes on her desk and she rolls her eyes. He's so predictable.

 _You're supposed to be writing,_ she types without even reading the text from her husband first. But she pauses with her thumb over the Send button and scrolls up to see what he wrote.

 _What are you wearing?_

She snorts and presses Send on _You're supposed to be writing._

The response comes almost immediately. _I need some inspiration. Here, I'll go first: I'm wearing sweatpants and no shirt._

Kate presses her lips together firmly. She is _not_ picturing Castle shirtless in their loft while she's at the office halfway across town from him. Damn it.

 _You watched me get dressed this morning,_ she points out, and tries to focus on her email, which of course is pointless.

 _Oh yeah. That baby-blue skirt suit? Hot._

 _I think you mean sophisticated and professional._

She gasps a little when his next response pops up. _That's not how I'd describe that skirt when I have my hand up under it._

She takes a careful breath and composes herself, then composes her reply.

 _Working, Rick. It's the middle of the day. Work time. You writing, me representing the people._

 _I wrote all morning._ She can almost hear the whiny note in his tone. _I'm taking a break now. I'm pushing that skirt up around your waist so you can spread your legs for me._

Her breath catches. She can feel her whole face flushing and she hopes desperately that no one is about to walk in. She swivels her chair to face the window, and gives in.

 _I'm sitting on the edge of my desk and pulling you between my legs,_ she sends.

 _You're so hot,_ the reply pops up quickly. _I bet you're biting your lip right now, aren't you?_ Her eyebrows go up. She is biting her lower lip, of course.

 _Is there something else you'd like me to bite?_ she types, and blushes, and backspaces, and then re-types it and hits Send before she can change her mind again.

 _You minx!_ he replies almost immediately. How does he type so fast? _I'm biting your neck right now, in your favorite spot. You're gonna need to wear a turtleneck tomorrow. Oh, and that skirt will need to be ironed._

 _At least that's not an issue with your sweatpants,_ she types back, grinning a little. _Speaking of which, I'm pushing my hand inside the waistband. What am I going to find?_

She hits Send and waits for his reply.

And waits. And waits.

Nothing.

Two minutes tick by and she's really starting to worry. She bites her lip again and switches over to the phone app, pulls up his contact, hovers her thumb above the call button.

Just as she's about to press it, another text beeps in.

 _Sorry, the kids just got home from school. I gotta go help with homework._ He's added a wide-eyed-and-blushing emoji.

Oh god. She drops her forehead to the desk.

It's going to be a long afternoon.


	4. Castle wakes up with new personality

_Flash-Fiction Challenge: write a prompt response in an hour or less_

 _Prompt: After a bump on the head, Castle wakes up with new personality_

* * *

The sound of a loud thump and then barking from the hallway outside her apartment door brought Kate Beckett out of the book she had been reading. She glanced at her watch; it was half an hour past the time when Castle was supposed to have dropped off Royal the dog for her evening of custody.

She waited for Castle's knock on the door, but after a moment, when no knock came, she realized that there was a note of urgency in Royal's bark. Unfolding her legs from the couch, she went over to open the door.

In the hallway, she saw a large male body lying on the floor and Royal standing over him, barking and yipping anxiously.

"Castle?" Beckett gasped, hurrying over. The dog stopped barking at her approach, and licked her hand. She knelt beside Castle and shook his shoulders gently, calling his name.

After a moment, his eyelids fluttered and opened. Beckett breathed a sigh of relief.

"Castle, are you okay? What happened?"

For a beat he just stared at her, his blue eyes wide and confused. Then his hands closed around her shoulders and he surged upward, his mouth aimed at hers. Beckett tensed in shock, suddenly paralyzed and breathless, unable to move as Castle lifted his torso off the floor and….

…licked her cheek.

"What the _hell?!_ " she exclaimed, wiping her face with her sleeve, staring at her partner. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and he was panting loudly, grinning at her. Then he lay back down on the floor, rolling onto his back, lifting his arms and legs into the air. He gave her a beseeching look. She stared at him in complete confusion.

Royal licked Beckett's other cheek and panted in her ear. She pushed the dog away, still staring at Castle. Then Royal flopped down on his side and lifted his paws in the air, giving her an earnest look almost exactly like the one Castle currently wore. Her hand moved of its own volition to rub the dog's belly and he squirmed with delight, his tail thumping against the floor. Her eyes widened with realization.

"I am _not_ rubbing your belly, Castle," she said severely.

"Can I sniff your crotch?" her partner asked, and then his eyes widened as he realized what had popped out of his mouth. "Um, I definitely hit my head _really_ hard just now."

"So it seems," Beckett said, turning her face away, blushing furiously. "Maybe you better come in and put some ice on it."

Castle sat up and groaned, putting a hand gingerly to the back of his head. "Ow. _Ow_ , Royal, that wasn't nice."

"What happened?" Beckett asked, getting to her feet and offering him a hand.

"Um, I think Royal was excited to see you," he said as she pulled him up, "and I wasn't moving fast enough for his liking, so he tried to push me along and I tripped over him."

"Well, maybe that'll teach you not to be late bringing him back," she chided as Royal herded them into her apartment, his tail wagging at top speed.

"We're not that late," Castle protested, giving her his best wide-eyed innocent look.

"You're half an hour late, and don't give me those puppy-dog eyes, Castle." She took an ice pack from the freezer and handed it to him, suppressing a shiver when their fingers brushed. Castle pressed the ice pack to his head and winced.

"I can't help it if this guy just really loves our walks." He picked up Royal's squeaky toy and squeezed it. It squeaked. He squeezed it again. And again.

Then he growled. He actually growled. Beckett stared at him in astonishment.

Castle put the ice pack on the counter and went down on his knees, shaking the toy back and forth. Royal dashed over, yipping excitedly, and tried to take the toy. Castle pulled it back and growled again. The dog growled back. They tussled over the toy until finally Castle let it go and lay down on his side, a whine coming from the back of his throat. Royal seized the toy and ran off to the other end of the room.

"Okay, you have definitely been spending too much time with this dog," Beckett announced, coming around the kitchen island and retrieving the ice pack. "Castle, get up and ice that head some more. Don't make me take you to the hospital to check for a concussion."

"Rub my belly, Beckett," he entreated, still lying on the floor.

"No. No way."

"Aw, come on." He pushed himself up to sitting, then stood. "At least say that later you'll put my leash on and take me for a walk."

A pause. Beckett felt her face heat up again. Castle coughed loudly.

"Yeah! Definitely a very severe blow to the head just now," he exclaimed guiltily, grabbing the ice pack. "Let us never speak of it again."

"Count on it," she agreed, retreating to the safety of the kitchen.


	5. Traffic Stop

_Prompt: "I crossed the street without looking and didn't get hit by a car but you still stopped me to scold me about traffic safety but i really need to get somewhere rn, here's my phone number scold me more later"_

* * *

"Late! Late, late, late."

Rick Castle was well aware that he was muttering to himself as he hurried down the street, but what the hell, it wasn't the weirdest thing to be seen in New York City on any given day.

Checking his watch for the dozenth time, he groaned and mentally berated himself for having stopped for that third cappuccino. It had seemed necessary at the time, though. The first and second cappuccinos had barely made a dent in the lingering aftereffects of last night's partying. His head was still throbbing.

A car honked behind him as he hurried across the street, checking the street sign. Only four blocks to go and, oh shit, he was already ten minutes late. Gina, his new handler at Black Pawn Publishing, had made it quite clear that she expected him to start being on time for these editing meetings, and here he was late for what was only the second such meeting. This was not going to help his chances of getting her into bed.

He thought those chances were probably still pretty good, though. He pictured Gina's very enticing cleavage and smirked to himself, tipping his head back to drain the last dregs of the third cappuccino before tossing the cup toward a trash can and continuing on his way.

"Sir! Sir!"

He was a few more steps away before he realized that the voice was addressing him. Looking around, he spotted a female cop heading his way.

"Sir!"

Muddled, he thought for a moment that his coffee cup had missed its mark and she was about to write him a ticket for littering. Did they even do that these days? He glanced over his shoulder at the garbage can, but there was no coffee cup on the ground next to it. Then what-?

"Sir," said the cop for the fourth time, coming up to him. "I'm going to need you to be more careful."

The first thing he noticed about the woman in the dark-blue uniform was that she was young. She couldn't be more than twenty-five, tops.

The second thing he noticed was her body, almost as tall as him - and he wasn't short - and slender, but nicely curved in all the right places, and with a tensely coiled strength that he could sense underneath the uniform.

But what really stopped him in his tracks were her eyes. Wide, solemn, brown eyes with subtle flecks of green; and there was more hidden inside those eyes, behind them. Something deep and dark, more bitter than any woman so young and gorgeous should have lurking in her gaze.

Blinking, he suddenly realized that she was frowning at him, pointing an accusatory finger. "I'm, I'm sorry?" he managed to say, doing a quick mental review of what she had said. "More careful with what?"

"The traffic, sir. You nearly got run over just then." She gestured to the street he had just crossed.

"Oh. I did?" He vaguely remembered hearing a car sound its horn at him. "But I'm okay, officer."

"That's not the point," she declared sternly. "You could have been hit, or caused an accident. It could have tied up traffic for hours, not to mention the potential for you or someone else to be seriously injured. Traffic safety is not something to take lightly, Mr. Castle. You should really-"

"You're right," he interrupted hastily, wincing as he looked at his watch again. "You're absolutely right, officer, and I am really, really sorry. Look, uh, here." He dug into his pocket and pulled out a business card. "I'm seriously late for a meeting, but here's my number. You can give me a call later and finish scolding me, okay? I promise I'll listen, and mend my errant ways." He flashed her his most charming smile.

"What - but I-" she sputtered, looking flummoxed.

"I really gotta go," he told her, and rushed off.

* * *

Kate Beckett stood there holding Richard Castle's business card, her cheeks flaming. What the hell had just happened?

She'd already been halfway through her lecture before she really looked at the face of the man she was chastising, and realized with shock that it was her favorite author in the flesh. Her spine had felt like it turned to ice in that moment, and it was probably a good thing he had interrupted her rant and rushed off. Who knows what a fool she might have made of herself in the next ten seconds?

She looked at the card and noticed his name, website URL, and cellphone number neatly printed on it. _Give me a call and finish scolding me_ , he had said. What the… She blinked some more. Was he - had he been flirting with her?

No. It couldn't be. She was imagining things.

Although … he did have quite the womanizing reputation. And she hadn't missed the way he'd looked at her in the uniform. Since becoming a cop, she had discovered repeatedly just how many men were turned on by the uniform. It was extremely tedious.

But this was _Richard Castle_.

Should she call him?

* * *

Rick was quite late to the meeting, and spent the first ten minutes apologizing to Gina. He poured on the charm, and finally got her calmed down enough so that they could sit down and go over the edits on his latest manuscript.

As recently as an hour ago, he would have seen an opportunity in the way Gina was responding to him, the way she crossed her legs when they sat down, the way she smiled at him. He would have taken the excuse to brush his hand against hers when she gave him a pen, and he would have felt confident that it was only a matter of time until she gave in to his charm. He might even have taken a chance on suggesting a quickie in her office, which, he happened to know, had a lock on the door.

But that was before his brief encounter on the street with the female cop, who was still haunting the back of his mind even while he and Gina were arguing over plot structure and character development.

He couldn't stop thinking about her, and he was already kicking himself for not having gotten her name, or badge number, or something.

He remembered her lean body, those long long legs that he was already imagining wrapped around his waist, or his shoulders. He remembered her wide mouth, the full lips just slightly shiny from lip gloss, and he wondered what those lips tasted like.

But mostly it was the memory of her captivating eyes that stuck with him. He wanted to know how those eyes would darken when he leaned in toward her mouth. He wanted to know what deep tragedy lay behind them.

He realized that he hadn't even seen her hair, hidden under the uniform cap, so he was free to imagine it however he liked. He was picturing it as a glossy light brown, mid-length, twisted up into a bun. He wanted to see how those liquid eyes would flash when he pushed his fingers into that bun, loosening the hair to flow like water across the back of his hand. He wanted to -

"Rick!"

He grunted, startled, and focused back in on Gina. Oh crap, she was mad at him again.

"Uh? What? Sorry," he forced his charming smile back into place, "I zoned out for a minute there, just thinking about how I could fix these scenes we were talking about."

"Uh-huh," Gina replied skeptically. "Whatever, Rick. Just go make the changes, okay? I want them in my email by the end of the week."

"Sure. Of course," he agreed, gathering up the manuscript. He was so distracted that he was already halfway down the hall toward the elevator before he realized that he should have given Gina some more sugar on his way out, just to stay in her good graces. Oops.

He emerged from the elevator, pushed out through the lobby doors onto the sidewalk, and stopped short, his jaw dropping as another thought occurred to him.

The cop had called him "Mr. Castle," and that was before he had given her his card. Holy shit.

* * *

Beckett returned to her patrol route, her thoughts whirling.

She had to repeatedly push aside the excited mental clamor of _Richard Castle gave me his phone number!_ in order to focus on the real issue, namely: should she call him or not?

She wasn't at all confident that she had gotten her point across about traffic safety, so maybe she should in fact call and finish reading him the riot act for his irresponsible behavior. It still made her shudder a little to remember how she'd watched him step right off the curb without even glancing at the street to check for cars. Just last month she had been the first uniform on scene at a traffic accident, and the memory of that victim's broken body lying in the street was still showing up regularly in her dreams.

On the other hand, she was sure - well, pretty sure - well, she thought maybe - no, she was pretty sure - that giving her his phone number had been something in between a flirt and a brush-off. He'd just been trying to get rid of her, so he could get to his oh-so-important meeting. Or maybe he thought they could hook up later, which was…. She found herself blushing again.

Arrogant and obnoxious. That's what it was. _Not_ flattering. Oh hell no. She was definitely not enjoying the thought of going to bed with her favorite author. No. She was just annoyed with him, that was all.

It really didn't help that he was so damn attractive.

She chewed on her lower lip and checked her watch as she made one final pass around the final block of her route. Her shift was over in four minutes - three minutes now. Not that she was counting.

She turned and went around the block once more, pulling her cellphone and Richard Castle's business card out of her pocket.

* * *

Rick was strolling back toward home, more leisurely this time, with the manuscript in a manila envelope under one arm and cappuccino number four in his hand, when his phone rang. He juggled the envelope and the coffee awkwardly while pulling out the phone and flipping it open. He didn't recognize the number on the caller ID.

"Rick Castle."

"Mr. Castle, this is Officer Beckett with the NYPD."

His heart nearly stopped in his chest. It was her! "Oh - oh, yes, officer," he managed, his breath coming faster. He struggled to regain his composure. What the hell? What was it about this young woman that got him so flustered? "Uh, did I mention how very sorry I am for what I did earlier? I really should have looked both ways before crossing the street."

"Yes, you should have," her rich, mellow voice replied sternly. "You have a daughter, don't you? You should think about her before you go taking chances like that with your own life. What would she do if something happened to you?"

Oh shit, he thought, as intuition flashed through him. She was speaking from experience, wasn't she? What was her story? He wanted to know. He _needed_ to know.

"You're absolutely right, officer," he said, pouring all the sincerity he could muster into his tone. "I promise you, I will definitely keep that in mind in the future."

"Good." There was a short pause, and then she added, "I must say, Mr. Castle, that was definitely the most creative excuse for giving me a phone number that I've ever encountered."

"Oh." He blinked, and blinked again, and felt a smile beginning to creep across his face as he slipped easily back into flirting mode. "And I'm sure you've encountered quite a few, officer. But I assure you, my intentions were noble."

"I'll bet," she replied, and he could almost see the sardonic twist of her gorgeous lips.

"So," he said, dropping his voice low, putting his most enticing tone into it, "maybe we should meet somewhere for a cup of coffee, so you can finish scolding me properly for my reckless behavior."

The pause was longer this time, and he was beginning to think he had overstepped - or misread her - and his forehead creased in a frown as he started to frame an apology. But before he could get it out, she spoke.

"Yeah," she said, "maybe we should."


	6. 8x12 Pregnancy Reveal

**_Season 8 spoilers ahead!_**

 _Tumblr prompt: During the final confrontation scene in 8x12 "The Blame Game," Beckett reveals that she's pregnant._

* * *

"No more talking!" their captor shouted, lifting the gun to his shoulder again. "It's time for the final puzzle. Which of you dies?"

Beckett's spine was straight, her voice firm. "I won't choose." Castle was sure he had never loved her more than in that moment.

"Neither will I," he affirmed, taking his cue - and his strength - from his wife. He kept his gaze fixed on the man with the gun, his fingers still steadily working at unscrewing the lever. He just needed another minute with the guy distracted.

"And you're not going to kill either of us," Beckett added coolly. Castle was amazed at her composure. And how did she know, without even looking in his direction, that he needed to buy just a little more time?

"Why's that?" their captor sneered, the barrel of the gun wavering unsteadily through the air as his hands trembled. "I said stop talking. Stop talking. Just stop!"

"No," Beckett replied levelly. "I won't stop talking, and you won't kill us. You're not going to kill my husband, because if you do I'll kill you in the next second and you'll never live to see what the world thinks of you and your parents." She paused, and Castle saw her ribcage expanding with the deep breath she took in. "And you're not going to kill me, because I'm pregnant."

"Yeah," Castle put in, "and if you-" and then his brain caught up to his ears and he stopped talking, his throat closing up with an almost palpable thunk. His hand fell away from the lever. He could only see part of Beckett's profile, but it was enough to catch the determined set to her jaw, the shine in her eye.

The other man's eyes were wide in his pale face, staring open-mouthed from one to the other of them. "What?" he demanded.

"You heard me," Beckett said steadily. "And we both know you're not going to shoot a pregnant woman, so just put the gun down now. This is over."

"Kate," Castle could only manage in a strangled whisper, his head spinning.

"Not exactly how I had planned to tell you," Beckett murmured, turning her head halfway toward Castle, so he could see the way her lips trembled when she tried to curve them up into a smile.

"Oh god, I love you so much," Castle blurted out desperately. Everything else had fallen away and all that filled his mind was _Kate_ and _baby_ and _mine_. He surged forward, the half-unscrewed lever completely forgotten.

The gun swung crazily toward him as their captor hesitated, momentarily paralyzed in confusion, and Beckett took advantage. She stepped toward him, putting her body inside the gun's reach, and efficiently twisted it out of his grasp. A quick flash of her foot to the back of his knee and he went down, grunting in pain, slumping to the floor in defeat.

Beckett clicked on the safety and turned just in time to meet the collision of Castle's body against hers. He wrapped his arms around her and gasped her name into her hair, overwhelmed with emotion. She hugged him back, one-armed, still holding the gun trained on their captor. He felt the cool wet touch of her tears on his neck.

In another moment the door burst open and Beckett whispered "Rick" and gently shoved him away, blinking fast and hard. He sighed deeply and put both hands to his face, hoping they had detached fast enough to preserve their fake separation. No one watching needed to know that he was covering a smile of pure joy behind his trembling hands.

The next hour or two flew by in a dizzying rush, and Rick could hardly hold it together. At last, at last he was alone in the loft with his wife. At last he could sit her down on the couch and kneel in front of her, lift her shirt and press his lips to her still-flat belly, relishing the way her smooth warm skin moved against him as she breathed; then he could lift himself up to sit beside her and kiss her uncertain smile.

"I know this is going to complicate things," she began, "and the timing is-" but he shook his head and silenced her with another kiss.

"None of that matters. We'll figure it all out," he vowed. "Somehow we'll figure it out."

She smiled again, still tentative, and then startled, blinking, when he leapt up again.

"Oh my god. Oh, this is perfect."

"What?" she asked, watching in confusion as he rushed to the foyer closet.

"All these things I bought for Ryan's new baby," he explained, bringing the bags back over to the couch. "Mother and Alexis said they weren't appropriate, but I couldn't bring myself to return them. Look." He reached into a bag and pulled out the tiny vest with BABY neatly stitched across the back.

Beckett's jaw dropped. She put a hand to her mouth and shook her head slowly.

"You have got to be kidding me."

"Aw, come on," he said defensively. "It's adorable. Okay, maybe just a _little_ inappropriate, but I mean, you wouldn't believe how-"

"I love it."

"What?" It was his turn to blink in amazement. Kate took her hand away from her mouth, and she was smiling, still shaking her head, her eyes glistening.

"It's completely ridiculous, babe, and it's so _you_. I love it."

"Really?" he got out, awestruck. She nodded slowly.

"Really." She reached out and took the little vest from him, running her fingers over the letters. "Rick … we're having a baby."

"It's gonna be awesome," he vowed, shifting closer, wrapping his arm around her. She gave him a shaky, watery smile.

"Yeah," she agreed slowly, sinking into his embrace. "It is."

* * *

 _A/N: I don't usually go in for pregnancy/baby fluff, but every once in a while it pops out._

 _Please don't use the comments box to tell me how much you think Season 8 sucks or what a terrible person Beckett is, etc. Comment on the story itself, or don't comment at all. Trollish comments will be deleted._


	7. I could buy you a pony

_Prompt: (a gif/screencap of) the moment in episode 2x01 when Castle says to Beckett "I could buy you a pony." Also inspired by recent Twitter conversation about same._

* * *

She wouldn't even let him ride in her car. He had to go with Ryan and Esposito, both of whom are still giving him the silent treatment. It was a very uncomfortable ride.

"Hey, can we talk about this, please?" Castle entreats, leaping out of Espo's car to catch up with Beckett. She's pulling on her crime-scene gloves, stone-faced.

"There's nothing to talk about."

He falls into step beside her, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. His gut clenches with the need to persuade her to take him back. He's been miserable all summer, ever since he crossed her clearly defined line (like the idiot he is) and she sent him packing.

"Hey," he says, the idea popping out of his mouth as soon as it's in his head, "I could buy you a pony."

There's the briefest pause in Beckett's confident stride. She cocks her head slightly, as if listening to some internal voice, and then he hears - he thinks he hears - "Okay."

"What?" he gasps, because surely he did not just hear Detective Kate Beckett say he could buy her a pony.

"Okay," she repeats, turning her head halfway toward him, poker-faced. "I'll take the pony."

Excitement swells within him. He can't believe it. He cannot believe it. Of all the times - the _many_ times - he offered to buy Alexis a pony, she never once said "Okay." She said "No, daddy," and "I said NO, daddy!" and "Daddy, we live in a loft in New York City, not a barn." She folded her arms and tapped her little foot and said sternly "Daddy, are you even listening to me?" Never once did Alexis say "okay" to a pony. There was that one time, after he accidentally broke her Luke Skywalker action figure (how was he to know the head wouldn't just pop right back on?), when Alexis made him take her to the toy store and buy a new Luke, and a Leia to go with it, and then they got ice cream sundaes and pedicures, and finally Alexis relented and allowed him to buy her a My Little Pony, but it wasn't the same.

He snaps out of that bittersweet reminiscence and realizes that Beckett has walked off. He hurries to catch up.

"What color?" he demands breathlessly, his mind whirling with possibilities.

"What?" Ryan asks. Beckett just rolls her eyes.

"What color pony? This is important, Beckett."

"Focus, Castle. Crime scene, okay?"

They all look up. Whoa, there's a dead guy in a tree. Castle bounces on his toes with delight. This day is really looking up.

"It's raining men," he can't resist saying, and Lanie looks down to snap at him.

"Castle! What're you doing here?"

"Don't worry," says Beckett, "we're still mad at him."

"You won't be, after you get your pony," he chirps.

A very eventful hour later, they're back at the precinct, and Lanie has pronounced him unharmed by their unexpected run-in with the corpse thieves. He's already thinking about how to fit that into his next Nikki Heat novel when the woman herself, his muse, the lovely Detective Beckett ... tells him to go home. What?

"Home? No! No no no, this case just got good! And I'm, I'm a witness," he protests. "And you still haven't told me what color pony you want."

"Castle!"

"These are important decisions, Beckett." He gives her his earnest puppy-dog look, the one that has never (yet) convinced Alexis to say yes to the pony.

It doesn't work on Beckett either, but at least she agrees to let him work the case with her.

She refuses to let him talk in the car on the way to the victim's home. That's okay. He's busy trying to dredge up the name of that guy he used to know. The one who could get you a pony on a moment's notice.

The next morning he's at the precinct bright and early, armed with phone numbers and hand sizes and price lists. "Beckett," he says urgently, setting her coffee down on her desk and plopping into his chair next to it. "Listen, I need to know your plans for the pony's living arrangements."

"What?" she asks blankly, blinking at him. She takes a large sip of the coffee, blinks some more, and says "What?" again.

"Well, I haven't been to your apartment," _yet_ , he just barely manages to stop himself from saying, "but I'm guessing it's a typically sized New York apartment, and therefore not actually big enough to house a pony, unless you want a miniature, which is a specialized breed with some unique health concerns to think about-"

"Castle."

"-so since you can't keep her at your place, there are several options within Manhattan itself, or if you'd rather-"

" _Castle!_ "

"What?" he startles, bemused. She's rolling her eyes and huffing in exasperation.

"Golden Garden," she says, in defiance of all logic or expectations.

"Golden Garden?" he repeats, completely befuddled.

"Golden Garden," she re-repeats, nodding firmly.

"I - Beckett, I don't know what that means," he confesses.

"Listen." Beckett takes another sip of the coffee and sighs. "My dad has this cabin upstate, okay? We go there all the time in the summer. It's right on a lake, really pretty."

"Okay," Castle nods, still entirely lost, but Beckett can tell him random irrelevant details about her personal life any time. It's all good. They'll get back to ponies eventually.

"And on the other side of the lake," she goes on, "there's this camp, a retreat for inner-city kids with cancer and other chronic illnesses."

"Oh," he says. "Golden Garden."

"Golden Garden," she agrees, nodding. "I used to work there as my summer job every year during high school. Playing games with the kids, nature walks, arts and crafts, pony rides." She looks pointedly at him, and the light dawns at last.

"Ohhh. Pony rides."

"It just so happens that one of their ponies died a couple weeks ago," Beckett says, looking at him with a straight gaze, serious and a little fierce. He nods slowly.

"Gotcha. I got it, Beckett."

"You do?"

"Yeah." He nods firmly. "One new pony for Golden Garden, coming up."

Her eyes soften. "Okay. Thanks, Castle."

"Don't mention it. And we're naming her Kate."

"No way in hell," she shoots back. "Her name is Ricki. _Princess_ Ricki."

He sighs. Alexis would have let him name a pony after her. Probably. Maybe.

Anyway, he makes the phone call, and they get back to investigating the case.

Things get a little crazy. There's poker, and a smoky bar full of Russian gangsters, and Beckett rescuing him wearing next to nothing. He's not quite sure what happened there, to be honest. But they're back at the precinct again and she steps aside to take a phone call, and when she comes back, she's looking oddly at him.

"What?"

"You really did it, Castle. You bought me a pony."

"I bought Golden Garden a pony," he corrects quietly. "Princess Ricki." They both smile.

"Beckett," he adds, sighing deeply. "I'm really sorry. I violated your trust, and I didn't respect your wishes. I was wrong."

Her eyes widen, then slowly soften again. "Yeah, Castle. You were." She looks down at her feet, and then back up at him. "See you tomorrow."

* * *

 _Note: Golden Garden is fictional, but nature retreat camps for seriously ill children do exist. You can find a list on cancer dot net, or google._


	8. 8x14-15 insert

_A short scene that I envisioned during Twitter discussion of the latest episode (8x15). Takes place in between 8x14 ("The BDS") and 8x15 ("Fidelis Ad Mortem"), when Castle comes home from his trip. Spoilery more for 14 than 15.  
_

* * *

The flight back from LA had seemed longer than ever, and Castle was frustrated and antsy by the time he got home. By some kind of unspoken agreement, Alexis and Hayley had taken it in turns to sit in the seat next to his for an hour or so at a time, enduring his fidgeting and the jiggling of his restless leg. Each of them had asked whether he wanted to "talk about it." He didn't; at least, not with them. Only with Kate. He needed his wife.

But by the time they landed, retrieved their luggage, found the town car he had called, and dropped off Alexis at her dorm and Hayley at her studio apartment, it was going on midnight and he figured Beckett probably hadn't waited up for him at the loft. She'd probably gone back to the tiny sublet she was renting to maintain the pretense of their separation.

Probably. But he still held out hope that she might be waiting for him; and so the elevator ride up to his floor, with his suitcase bumping his leg and his keys already in hand, was excruciatingly, almost intolerably slow.

He opened the loft door at last, and entered somewhat quietly, just in case. Abandoning the suitcase by the front door, he didn't even stop to hang up his coat, just tossing it toward the sofa as he moved toward the bedroom.

Relief flooded him when he came through the door and saw her. She was asleep on his bed - _their_ bed - almost completely buried in the blankets, her hair spread out across the pillow.

He stepped closer and just looked at her for a long sweet moment, thinking, _Home at last._

The dark half-circles under her eyes made his chest ache. He hated the thought of what he had to tell her, a new collection of painful secrets that would deepen the lines of stress in her beloved face. Not for the first time he found himself wishing that he could scoop her up, put her in the car, and just drive. Maybe forever. To escape, just the two of them, into the distance where nothing could find them and all they would have, all they would need, was each other.

Sighing, shaking off the moment of melancholy, he stepped around the bed and into the bathroom.

He took a short shower, just to rinse off the grime of travel; toweled his hair dry, brushed his teeth, and pulled on a pair of boxers. Then he moved to his side of the bed and lifted the covers, carefully. He didn't want to wake her.

Oh, who was he kidding? He absolutely wanted to wake her. But she needed her sleep...

"Time's it?" she slurred as he was trying to lower himself onto the bed without jostling her.

"Not too late," he answered softly. But then he amended, "Well, not too late on California time."

"Oh, well, in that case," she mumbled, rolling over toward him, and oh. Oh wow, she was naked under there.

"Kate," he breathed, her name like a prayer of thanksgiving on his lips as he swiftly slid under the covers and she molded her bare skin to his.

"Missed you," he heard faintly as she snuggled into his welcoming arms, adorably sleepy and pliable. The heat of her bare breasts branded his chest, and he gasped a little when one silky leg nudged between his, curving around the back of his calf.

"Missed you too," he said fervently, and kissed the top of her head, thinking she was going to drift back into sleep in the next moment.

But instead she lifted her face, eyes half-lidded, and smiled softly up at him, and tilted her head in that way that every man alive knows. It meant, _Kiss me_ , and he didn't hesitate.

Her mouth was hot and sweet, and when he slipped his tongue between her lips he found that she wasn't as close to sleep as he had thought. She came alive under his mouth and hands, undulating against him, eager moans vibrating her throat as he kissed her and stroked the sinuous length of her body. Her arm wound around his ribs, fingers digging into his back, and she pulled him on top of her.

Afterward, she pressed another soft, sweet kiss onto his lips and mumbled again, "Missed you. Love you," and fell asleep.

"Love you too," he responded, his lips against her forehead. All those things he had to tell her could wait till morning.


	9. Bed Shopping

_**Prompt:** (textsfromlastnight) "Buying a new bed right now. My options are limited because I need to be able to be tied to it."_

* * *

It was a slow day at Crate&Barrel in Manhattan's Soho district. Frankie was the only salesperson on duty in the Furniture department at this time of day - lunchtime on a random Thursday - and he was very, very bored. So he was pleased as punch to see a couple of shoppers step out of the elevator and immediately begin looking at beds.

Frankie studied the customers as he made his way toward them. They were in their thirties, he thought, and judging by their clothes, they were pretty well-off. They were also arguing.

"... _not_ need a sugar daddy," he heard the woman saying in a low but fierce voice. "I am perfectly capable of paying for my own damn furniture."

"I didn't mean it like that, Beckett," the man protested. "It's just, you spent all morning telling me this is my fault, so I thought-"

"Well, it is!" she hissed. "If you hadn't insisted on trying-"

"How was I to know your bed wasn't sturdy enough to handle it? Anyway, I didn't hear you complaining at the time!"

Frankie didn't blush. He had been working the furniture showroom for quite a while now, and you wouldn't _believe_ the things he had heard.

"Oh no," the man continued, still speaking quietly, but forcefully, with a certain twinkle in his eye. "It was all 'harder, Castle, harder!' until the bed frame cracks and suddenly _I'm_ the bad guy."

The woman had developed a murderous glare that could probably set the drapes on fire in Home Decor across the way, so Frankie quickly stepped in. "Hey there, folks!" he exclaimed, giving them his cheeriest salesman grin. "How can I help you today?"

"Well, hi..." the man said, squinting at his nametag, "...Frankie. We're looking for a bed." He smiled pleasantly. "We need one that-" The woman elbowed him in the ribs, hard. "Ow!" He rubbed his side and pouted at his girlfriend.

"We'll just look around on our own," the woman told Frankie firmly, "and let you know if we have any questions."

"Sure thing. Take your time." Frankie kept his smile in place as they moved off between the beds.

"That really hurt, Beckett," he heard the man complain.

"Well, you were about to tell that salesman our business. I don't need him knowing that we're looking for a bed that we can ... you know."

"Tie each other to?" he finished her sentence, and Frankie could hear the grin in the man's voice. "Come on, it's his job to help customers find the right piece of furniture that has the features they want."

Frankie couldn't see the woman's face, but the other man could, and whatever was on it shut him up in a hurry.

Normally, Frankie wasn't the eavesdropping type - really - but today had just been so boring, and this couple had caught his interest. He couldn't help himself, so he was trailing after them on the other side of the display of bureaus and vanities, where he couldn't see them - nor they him - but he could still hear their conversation.

The man was only silenced for a moment. "Ooh, look," he said a few steps later. "This headboard is padded. That could come in handy."

"Mm," the woman hummed skeptically. "But there's nowhere to attach the handcuffs."

"We could get those rings installed. Remember? I showed you on that website?"

"Yeah, but I'm not buying a brand-new bed and drilling holes in it right off." Her tone sharpened. "If you make a drilling joke, Castle, I swear to god."

"I wasn't going to!"

She scoffed. "Right."

"Although, you know, after the drilling comes the screwing."

" _Castle_." But then her tone switched from scolding to interested. "Wait, look at this one."

"Oh yeah," he agreed. "This has promise. The cuffs could attach to those bars, no problem."

"I like the color too. It'll go well with the rest of my stuff. Do you think these feet are strong enough?"

"It looks pretty sturdy." There was a loud thump, which Frankie knew from long experience was the sound of a grown man throwing himself onto the bed.

"Castle!" the woman exclaimed again, half laughing, half mortified. Frankie had heard that tone from many a wife or girlfriend in here. And he knew what came next, too.

Sure enough - "Come here," the man growled, and Frankie didn't have to look to know that he had grabbed the woman's hand and pulled her down onto the bed with him.

"Stop it," she said, but unconvincingly, and then there were some low murmurs that Frankie couldn't interpret, and some wet smacking sounds that he definitely could. He grinned to himself. Management was always telling the salespeople in Furniture not to let couples get 'amorous' on the beds, but Frankie figured, as long as there were no little kids around, what was the harm? People wanted to know that the furniture would be right for all of the activities they'd be using it for at home.

"No, really, stop it," the woman's voice insisted after a moment, and there was some rustling and shifting. "Let me see this headboard. Do you think it would work without any cross-bars?"

"Hmm." More rustling and bouncing. "You think the cuffs would slide around too much?"

"Could be. You don't exactly hold still."

"Me? What about you?" the man demanded teasingly. "The other night, when I had my tongue-"

"Shut up!" she gasped, and he chuckled softly.

"Anyway, your handcuffs are in your purse, aren't they? Why don't you pull them out and we'll give it a try?" the man suggested. Frankie's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Now _that_ was one he hadn't heard before.

"You are out of your mind," the woman snapped, sounding incredulous. "Stop it. Let _go_ of my purse this minute."

"Ow! Okay, okay, apples," the man exclaimed. "You're a spoilsport, Detective." Frankie let out a little _ahh_ of understanding. The woman was a cop? That explained a lot.

"Behave yourself," she was saying, and now her voice was low and sultry.

"Oh, I will," her boyfriend promised, equally low. More soft wet noises ensued.

Frankie decided it was time to cool things down a bit, but he wasn't a complete jerk, so he made plenty of noise and moved slowly as he came around the side of the armoires toward the bed that the couple had chosen.

"Find anything you like?" he asked brightly, pretending not to notice the woman's mussed hair, or her embarrassed expression, or the placement of her hands suggesting that she had just hastily re-buttoned her blouse. He noticed with some approval that the man's shirt was also rather less buttoned-up than it had been.

"Ahem. Yes," she said, standing up quickly, pursing her lips severely. "I mean, maybe."

"Just so you know, ma'am," Frankie said, keeping a perfectly straight face, "this model does come with optional cross-bars that can be installed at both the head and foot."

"Oh," she managed, a little strangled, her cheeks going pink. Her boyfriend, struggling ungracefully to his feet beside her, grinned openly.

"You don't say, Frankie. So we could get extra bars going across, right here?" he asked, indicating the head of the bed.

"Yes, sir," Frankie agreed as they looked at the bed together. "You can see the marks along here where they would go. This floor model had them originally, but we removed them for the cleaner look. They could easily be reinstalled."

The couple exchanged a loaded glance. "Is this model in stock?" the woman asked, clearing her throat. "How, uh, how soon could we get it delivered?"

"Let me go and check on that for you," Frankie replied. "Back in a jiff."

It only took him a moment to find the relevant details in the store computer, and as he was walking back, he paused again behind the bureaus, listening. The couple had started up their argument again.

"At least let me pay half," the man was saying. "I'll be taking up half the bed, so that's fair."

Frankie could practically see the woman rolling her eyes. "Oh, fine. But if you think I'm going to be the first one who gets handcuffed to this bed, think again, buster."

There was a brief, heated silence. The man's voice sounded more than a little strained when he replied at last, "I doubt I'll be able to think much at all, now. How soon can we get it?"

That was Frankie's cue, so he swung cheerfully around the corner again, chirping, "Good news, folks. We have that model in stock, and if you'd like to pay for expedited delivery, we can get it to you this evening."

"Great. We'll take it," the man said, leaping up and reaching for the clipboard Frankie was holding. He passed it to the woman, who began filling out the paperwork.

"The express delivery and setup will cost you an extra-"

"Don't care. Just do it," the guy declared. The woman narrowed her eyes and briefly side-eyed him, but didn't comment.

"Sure thing, sir. Will you be wanting the extended warranty?" Frankie asked, again keeping his expression carefully blank. "For only one ninety-nine ninety-five more, it covers defects and damage of any kind."

"Any kind?" the man repeated, looking thoughtful. Frankie made eye contact with him and nodded.

"Yes, sir. Any damage at all, we'll replace the bed free of charge. No questions asked."

The man's lips twisted in a smirk. "Okay. We'll take the warranty too," he said decisively, and the woman, whose cheeks had turned pink again, pointedly didn't comment.

Within minutes the paperwork was finished, the woman's credit card processed, and Frankie saw them out with a cheerful smile and a wave.

"Have a great day, folks. Enjoy your new bed!"

"Oh, we will," the man grinned, and Frankie saw the woman smack his arm as they waited for the elevator.

"You're impossible," she hissed, but Frankie could clearly hear the affection underlying her tone.

The man could too, apparently, because all he said was "I know." But then, as the elevator doors opened, he added, "Hey, how long until we have to be back at the precinct?"

"Plenty of time. Why?" the woman asked suspiciously. He grinned, and backed her into a corner of the elevator.

Just as the doors slid shut, Frankie heard the man's husky voice murmuring, "Let's go back to your place and see if we can break the couch."


	10. 8x20 alternate ending

_An alternate ending to episode 8x20 "Much Ado About Murder." With potential spoilers for that episode, obviously._

* * *

Kate Beckett is sitting on the floor with her husband, happily eating Chinese food out of takeout containers.

"Mm," he says, swallowing a large mouthful. "This date night is everything I dreamed it would be."

"Aww," she smiles. "Well, don't get too comfortable, babe. The night is young."

"Oh. Really?" he asks, surprised. "I thought you were gonna say something like, 'given all the recent excitement, a quiet night in would be nice for a change.'"

"Nope," she grins, shaking her head. "Although, now that you mention it, that does sound kind of nice. You should keep that in mind next time it's your turn to plan date night."

Castle narrows his eyes at her. "Come on, Kate. We both know you didn't plan anything."

"Actually," she checks her watch quickly, "I did, and we have to leave soon or we'll be late. Eat up."

Her husband still looks skeptical, but he shrugs and starts shoveling the rest of the lo mein into his mouth. Beckett grins and goes to work on the remainder of the cashew chicken.

"Okay," Castle says a few minutes later, watching Beckett pull on her shoes. "So, on a scale of one to ten…"

"What you're wearing now is just fine," she assures him, quickly taking the empty containers to the kitchen trash can. "Come on, we need to get going."

"At least give me some kind of hint," Castle cajoles as they grab their jackets and leave the loft. "Are we going skydiving?"

"At this time of night?" Beckett scoffs. "Forget it, Castle. I'm not giving anything away. You'll just have to wait and see."

"Kate," he whines as they ride the elevator down to the ground floor. "You know I love guessing. Just one little hint."

"Nope."

Castle continues wheedling, and Beckett ignoring, as they emerge from the elevator and walk across the lobby. The doorman, occupied with a messenger delivering a large box, gives them a wave on their way out.

Within moments they're in a cab, and Beckett slips the driver a piece of paper with an address written on it. Castle's eyebrows go up.

"Okay, I'm officially impressed."

"Listen, babe," Beckett murmurs, biting her lip nervously, taking his hand. "Um, this isn't exactly up to the level of Hamilton or the spelunking thing, as date night plans go."

"Hey," he soothes, bringing her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. "I'm sorry if the whole date night competition thing is too much. You don't need to feel pressured. Whatever it is, I'm sure I'll love it."

A tentative smile claims Beckett's lips. "I really think you will. Even though it's not skydiving."

"Well, maybe next time."

They both chuckle, leaning in to each other for a quick kiss.

"Here ya go," announces the cabbie. Castle sits up straight.

"That was quick," he comments, reaching for his wallet, but Beckett has already pressed some cash into the driver's hand and climbed out. He hastens to follow.

"Huh," he says when he joins Beckett on the sidewalk. "What is this?"

It's a nondescript block, mostly brownstones and unassuming brick buildings, with a convenience store on the corner. Castle gazes around curiously, trying to figure out where his wife is taking him.

"This way," Beckett murmurs, quietly pleased at his confusion. She laces her fingers through his, pressing her palm to his bigger one, and tugs him toward the nearest low building.

As soon as they enter the front door, Castle begins to get the idea. "Oh," he exclaims, his lips turning upward. Kate can't help smiling back, her chest tight with affection at the way her husband's expression softens as he takes in the brightly colored artwork on the walls.

"Beckett! Castle!" They both turn at the sound of their names, and smile at the approach of Kevin Ryan, his tiny son balanced easily on his shoulder. "Hey, you guys came."

"Wouldn't miss it," Kate smiles, glancing sideways at her husband, who nods enthusiastically.

"No way," he agrees, squeezing her hand. And they follow Kevin into the little auditorium.

The preschool play is achingly awkward and completely adorable. Beckett smiles through the whole thing, beaming at little Sarah Grace as she twirls and flutters through her flower song.

As the final notes die away, the parents and friends burst into applause. Kevin and Jenny are both on their feet, clapping furiously. Kate sneaks a glance to her right and laughs aloud at the sight of her husband holding little Nicholas, cradling the baby in the crook of his arm with ease and applauding gently. Beckett had been so focused on Sarah Grace's performance, she never even noticed when Rick took the baby from Jenny.

As the parents make their way up toward the stage to collect their little performers, Castle's gaze shifts down to the infant in his arms, and the tenderness in his face sends Kate reeling back in her chair, feeling almost as if her heart has stopped in the sudden rush of almost unbearable longing.

"Castle," she gets out, choked, and he lifts his eyes to her, beaming.

"You win date night, no question," he announces, and the knot in her chest slowly loosens.

She even lets him slide the baby into her arms, asleep now, a solid warm bundle of soft skin and plush fabric and downy hair. She bites her lip hard as she studies the tiny face, transfixed while her husband goes to give Sarah Grace a hug and congratulate the happy parents.

"All good?" Jenny is asking a moment later, and Kate nods, smiling, but ready to relinquish the baby back to his mother.

They say their goodnights and meander out to the sidewalk again, their arms linked.

"Thank you," Castle says softly as they wait for a cab. Beckett cocks her head at him questioningly.

"For what, babe?"

One corner of his mouth quirks upward in self-deprecation. "For … reminding me that date night doesn't have to be a competition."

"The rivalry is half the fun," she teases lightly, echoing his words from earlier. He snorts and nods ruefully.

"Yeah, but the other half is this." He waves his hand back toward the preschool building as they climb into the taxi. "Just … being together."

Beckett leans forward to give the driver their address, then slides over to press herself against her husband's side, his arm wrapping around her shoulders with easy familiarity.

"Speaking of being together," she rasps against his neck, slipping her hand into the open collar of his shirt. She presses her lips to the underside of his jaw, and feels him smile.

"It's the baby, isn't it?" he murmurs, his voice husky with arousal. A shiver runs through Kate, an odd mixture of desire and anxiety as she remembers the sight of his strong arms cradling the infant, the sweet adoration on his face.

"It's you," she says against his skin. "It's all you."

An hour later they're in bed, sweaty and breathless and happy.

"Seems like date night always ends the same way," Castle smirks, his fingers dancing lightly over Beckett's shoulders. She huffs out a laugh.

"It's important to maintain some traditions in a relationship, don't you think?" she teases back.

"Oh, definitely. Absolutely," he agrees. "But strictly speaking, this particular tradition demands a third round."

"You don't say," Beckett grins, rolling on top of him, her hands seeking. "Well, I guess we'd better honor that tradition properly."

And they do.


	11. Beckett gets another tattoo

_**Prompt:** (from castlefanficprompts on tumblr) "Beckett gets another tattoo, in honour of her mom after Veritas." See tumblr for the image of the tattoo that accompanied the prompt._

* * *

Silent tears stream down Kate Beckett's cheeks. She squeezes her fiancé's hand in a death grip, her knuckles white, as Jeff the tattoo artist moves his needle steadily across her skin.

Jeff almost stopped when he noticed her crying a few minutes ago; his hand paused, the buzzing needle poised above her neck, and his eyes cut over to Castle's, questioning. But Rick gave him a quick nod of reassurance, and the tattooist raised his eyebrows in an expressive facial shrug and turned back to his task. He works with quiet efficiency, inscribing the lines and curves onto Beckett's body, a scrap of paper towel in his other hand whisking away the droplets of blood as they ooze up along the needle's path.

Castle is keeping a close eye on Beckett, gauging her emotional state from moment to moment. He's ready to tell Jeff to stop if needed, but so far he knows that she's okay, despite the tears seeping continuously from beneath her closed eyelids. If he had to guess, he'd say she doesn't even notice the scratch of the needle as it scrapes the ink into her skin. The pain she's feeling is not physical.

The tattoo is almost finished. Castle leans forward slightly, bringing his face closer to Beckett's.

"It's beautiful," he murmurs into her ear. "You're gonna love it."

Her eyes pop open at the sound of his voice, her gaze cutting sharply toward him, and she belatedly realizes how hard she's clutching his hand. She slowly eases her grip, eyes blinking an apology at him, even as she keeps her upper body motionless, careful not to disturb Jeff's canvas.

" _She_ would have loved it," Castle adds, swiping his thumb gently across the back of Beckett's hand. She manages a tight smile and withdraws her hand, untangling her fingers from his to wipe her sweaty palm on her jeans. Castle takes the opportunity to do the same, answering her smile with his own.

"Thank you," she breathes, her hand coming to rest on his knee. He covers it with his own again, just lightly this time. She can squeeze his knee if she needs to.

"Always," he says, of course, and she smiles for real now, some of the tension slowly leaving her face.

"All done," the tattooist announces then, setting the needle gun aside, stretching his arms over his head briefly to crack his back. Beckett lets out a long breath and straightens up, rolling her neck and shoulders. Her eyes find Castle's again, a tentative question sparking in them.

"Oh," he says, but Jeff is already in motion, standing up and reaching for a pair of hand-mirrors on a table. The same two they used an hour or more ago, to confirm the proper placement of the artwork.

But angling the mirrors just right is tricky, and while Beckett and Jeff are fussing at it, Castle simply pulls out his phone.

"Here," he says softly, snapping a couple of shots and handing the device over to his fiancée. Jeff huffs sheepishly.

"I never think of that," he admits, pulling out his own phone, quickly looking to Beckett for permission before taking a few pictures of his own.

Beckett cradles Castle's phone in her palm, studying the image of her own upper back. The art is simple, etched in black and shades of gray.

Two elephants stand between her shoulder blades, the smaller one's trunk gripping the tail of the larger one. And underneath them, in Kate's own flowing cursive, the words: _Omnia Vincit Amor_.

"From truth to love," Castle comments, and Beckett turns her face up toward him, her eyes overflowing again.

"Hang on," Jeff protests as Beckett surges up out of the chair to wrap her arms around Castle, burying her damp face in his shoulder. He hugs her gently, careful to keep his hands away from the new tattoo. A bit of hair has escaped her bun and he slides fingertips delicately along her neck to pull the strands away from the site.

"It's right," she whispers into his shirt. "It's the right words. It wasn't veritas that brought her justice - it was amor."

"It's right," Castle repeats, confirming, and she hugs him even tighter.

"Ma'am, I'm going to put this bandage on now," Jeff is saying, and Beckett nods against Castle's chest, pulling in a deep shuddering breath, working to compose herself.

"Go ahead," Castle says, and watches, still holding Beckett in his arms, while Jeff smears petroleum jelly over the new tattoo, then carefully covers it with a piece of gauze secured with medical tape.

"Aftercare instructions," the artist says, handing Castle a slip of paper and a small tube of antibiotic ointment. "She can't sleep on her back for a few nights."

"No problem," Castle nods. He pockets the items and peels Beckett away from his body to look into her face.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." She gives him a shaky smile, then turns it toward Jeff. "Thank you so much. It's perfect."

"No problem," Jeff replies. "Sorry about your mom."

Beckett takes another slow breath. "Thank you. But we got him." She turns back toward Castle again. "We got him."

"Hey," Castle adds, a grin beginning to break across his face, as Jeff turns to start cleaning up his workspace. "Look."

Beckett follows his gaze toward the tattoo artist's work table and the accoutrements laid out on it: the needle gun, the little pots of ink, the box of single-use latex gloves, the gauze, the scraps of bloodstained paper towel. All lying atop a sheet of week-old newspaper.

Beckett looks, and looks again, and a laugh bursts from her throat, startling Jeff. He twists around to stare as Castle's low chuckle joins Beckett's.

 _SENATOR BRACKEN ARRESTED_ , reads the front-page headline, above a picture of a scowling Bracken. Words and photo in stark black ink, on newsprint now smeared with traces of Kate Beckett's blood.

The symbolism clears all hint of melancholy from Beckett's face, and her eyes are twinkling as she picks up her purse and reaches for her fiancé's hand.

"Come on, Castle," she says brightly, twining her fingers with his again. "Let's go plan a wedding."


	12. It's Literally Verbal Masturbation

_" **It's Literally Verbal Masturbation** " - aka an alternate interpretation of the series finale. NOT to be taken overly seriously. __Spoilers for 8x22 herein!_

* * *

 _"Sorry, Rick," the villain growled as he leveled his weapon on the defenseless writer, "but how am I gonna enjoy my retirement with you and the missus hunting me?"  
_

 _"Castle!" shouted the beautiful captain, entering the room with her gun drawn. And the room exploded in a hail of bullets..._

"Dad!"

Castle looked up guiltily, hastily slamming his laptop shut as his teenage daughter entered the room.

"Oh. Hi, pumpkin, what's up?" he asked just a little too innocently.

Alexis sighed, shaking her head at him. "Seriously? Are you still writing that self-insertion fanfic about you and Detective Beckett? It's really getting kind of-"

"Pathetic. I know," he groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. His cheeks were rough with stubble and he suddenly wondered just how long he had been sitting here, lost in the magic of the story he had woven. "But I was just about to end it, Alexis. I swear."

"Really." His daughter eyed him skeptically, coming over to perch on the corner of his desk. "How? Are you making them ride off into the sunset on those motorcycles?"

"What? No." He frowned. "You read that one? I thought we agreed that you wouldn't look at my hard drive any more."

"I was checking up on you," she shrugged, unrepentant. "But don't worry, I never look in your X-rated folder."

"Alexis," he protested, squirming in his chair. His precious little girl wasn't supposed to know about that.

"We worry about you, Dad," she said more softly. "It's not healthy, what you've been doing these past few months. Sitting around all day in your underwear, writing this whole fantasy world where Detective Beckett is in love with you and lets you solve cases with her and everything? Eight years' worth of it? It's pretty creepy, actually."

"It's not harming anything," he muttered sulkily. "It's just for fun."

"I know." Alexis leaned over and hugged him. "And I'm sorry. I know how disappointed you were that she and her captain refused to let you shadow her."

"I helped them solve that case and everything!" he exclaimed, not noticing how Alexis hid her eyeroll in the crook of his neck. "Without my help they never would have caught Harrison Tisdale. You'd think they would have been a little bit grateful."

"Dad, they were." Alexis pulled back and looked reproachfully into his eyes. "You got an official commendation from the mayor and everything. Why can't that be enough?"

"The girl is wise," came a mellow voice from the doorway. Castle groaned.

"Mother."

"Well, Richard," said Martha Rodgers, entering the room with her typical aplomb, "you must admit your daughter has a point. But did I hear you say that you're putting an end to this foolishness at last?"

"Yes," he grumbled, reopening his laptop and turning it so that both women could see the words on the screen. "I was just working on the penultimate scene. I wrote the last scene already."

Alexis's eyes skimmed swiftly across the text. "Oh my god," she gasped, one hand flying up to cover her mouth. "Caleb came back? I thought he died in that car explosion."

"No, that was all a ruse to draw us out. I mean, them," Castle amended hastily at a sharp look from his mother. "But after we - _they_ \- take out the big bad, Caleb comes back and gets his final revenge by shooting both of them."

"You're killing yourself off? How very avant-garde," Martha commented.

"No!" Now it was Castle's turn to gasp, affronted. "God, no. I would never. You can't just kill a beloved character like that!" He hit the page-down key. "Look, they're both going to be fine, okay?"

 ** _SEVEN YEARS LATER..._** read the screen.

"Wait," Alexis said, grimacing. "You gave yourself and Detective Beckett three kids? And you even named them? That's way too far into creepy territory, Dad."

"I had to put the kids in there," he protested. "I wrote that one last month about the time-traveler who tells them that they have three kids. Consistency is very important."

"Oh, of course, consistency," Martha scoffed, rolling her eyes melodramatically.

Castle ignored that. "And I debated about whether that included you," he added, putting a hand on Alexis's arm, "but I decided that by the time we were having kids, you'd be in college and living on your own anyway."

"Richard," his mother chided, shaking her head.

"What?" he bristled defensively.

"You said 'we' again, darling."

"ANYway," he said firmly, folding his arms across his chest, "that's finished. I don't need it any more. It just so happens that I sent the first draft of _Heat Wave_ to Gina yesterday, and she loved it. Black Pawn is going to publish it."

His mother and daughter both exclaimed with surprise. "Really? You actually wrote the book based on Detective Beckett?" Alexis asked, her eyes wide.

"Yeah," he shrugged, "I got enough material from those couple of days we were working on that one case together. Of course, if I wanted to stretch it into a series, I'd need to do more research with the NYPD, but..." he shrugged expressively.

"Aha," Martha said knowingly, winking and nodding at him. "I see where you're going, kiddo. Just be careful, all right?"

"What?" Alexis looked from her grandmother to her father and back again, and at last the penny dropped. "Ohh. You think when Beckett reads the book she'll be so flattered she'll decide to let you follow her after all?"

"You never know," Castle said, shrugging too casually. He stood up from his chair and stretched with a loud groan. "Dinner?"

"You should clean up first, darling," his mother said, breezing out toward the living room. "I'll be upstairs whenever you're ready."

"Me too," Alexis agreed, giving him a peck on the cheek before bouncing away.

Alone again, he looked down and hit the page-down key on his laptop one more time.

 _Every writer needs inspiration, and I found mine._

"Ugh, no. Way too cheesy," he grumbled, and hit the delete key.


	13. Life of the Party

_Prompt: (this tiny piece was prompted by a photo, which is now the cover photo on this story collection)_

* * *

She slips up behind him while he's standing with a clump of others, politely nodding along to some interminable story being told by an elderly publishing executive. He doesn't even notice her, that's how stealthy she is, until her hand is sliding down the inside of his arm and her husky voice slithers into his ear.

"Enjoying yourself, stud?"

His breath catches and he tries to turn toward her, but the slender length of her body is solid at his back, just barely not touching him, keeping him in place.

"Kate," he tries, turning his head to murmur her name over his shoulder, only able to glimpse the tip of her nose, the sweep of her hair.

The clinking of wine glasses and the drones of voices throughout the stuffy hotel ballroom fade away. He tries to focus in on the old guy; he smiles when everyone else laughs, nods at random; but his entire attention of course is on the woman behind him.

Her forearm brushes his as she twines her fingers around his thumb, her pinky finger stroking his knuckles oh so lightly.

"I love this thumb," she breathes against the back of his neck. "I love the things it can do to me."

He shudders, struggling to keep his breathing even, his expression neutral. All of a sudden he knows exactly what this is: it's her revenge, his punishment. For telling her this event was going to be fun and lively. A blatant lie that he confessed just as the car was pulling up outside the venue, just in time to step out into the popping of flashbulbs and hear her hiss through gritted teeth that he was going to pay for this.

And now he's paying, all right. He's paying for it with the suddenly urgent tightness of his suit pants when she rolls her thumb over the tip of his in a swirling motion he knows all too well.

"I love this thumb on my body," she whispers, "or in my mouth. Don't you?"

That's it. He breaks, just like she knew he would. He captures her fingers with his and spins around to face her.

"Let's get out of here," he growls, low. She doesn't bother to hide the fact that she's laughing at him, tossing her hair back over her shoulder in exactly the same way she does when she's on top, riding him. But let her laugh - he doesn't care - if this is his payback, he'll take it. Gladly.

"I thought you'd never ask," she chuckles, and she takes his arm and lets him lead the way.


	14. Castle Goes To Hawaii

_Prompt: (textsfromlastnight) "Drunk him got in a fight with his wife he literally bought a plane ticket and flew to Hawaii. He just called me and asked why I let it happen."_

* * *

"Ryan!"

The detective winced at the sound of his name ringing through the bullpen, accompanied by the sharp click of his boss's heels on the floor. Heads turned throughout the precinct as she strode toward his desk. Hastily, he dropped his phone into his jacket pocket and turned to face her.

"Morning, Captain."

"Don't you 'morning' me," she snapped. "Where the hell is my husband?"

"Um." Ryan grimaced, avoiding her eyes. "Hawaii."

"Ha-" Beckett paused, blinking in startlement at the utterly unexpected response. " _Hawaii_?"

"Oahu, to be specific," Ryan added, cringing backward in his chair. His boss glared at him for a long, befuddled moment before recalling herself.

"My office. Now."

Safely behind her back, he sighed and shook his head to himself as he followed her across the room and into the office. Once the door was closed behind them, she settled into her chair with a barely audible exhale of relief and jerked her chin at him, indicating that he should sit as well.

"Tell me," she ordered as soon as his butt hit the seat. Kevin composed himself, taking a slow breath, carefully not noticing his captain's unusually heavy eye makeup.

"Your personal life is none of my business," he began, and accepted the glare that he had known the statement would evoke. "But that must've been some fight you and Castle had last night. He met us at the Old Haunt, and he was already pretty wasted by the time he got there. Then he had another couple shots before we could stop him." Beckett groaned and shook her head, and Ryan hesitated, but pushed determinedly on. "Javi and I put him in a taxi and gave the driver your address. We sent him home to you, Beckett, I swear."

"But," she prompted, her eyes like steel.

"But," he sighed, "I guess he changed his mind, told the driver to take him to the airport. Bought a ticket and flew to Hawaii."

"Why?"

Ryan's eyes snapped up to his boss's face at the plaintive tone. The anger was gone from her expression and now she just looked - oh god, oh shit - like she was going to cry.

"I don't know," he said helplessly, squirming in his chair. He did _not_ want to see Beckett cry. "I don't, I just, he called me this morning from Hawaii and yelled at me."

"Yelled at you? What for?"

"Uh. Asked why I let this happen." He shrugged expressively.

She let out a noise that might have been a huff of laughter, a disbelieving scoff, an angry sob - or some combination of all three. " _You_ let this happen. Right."

"Beckett, I-" but he was cut off by the loud, upbeat sound of the 'Mission Impossible' theme song blaring from the cell phone in his pocket. Castle's ringtone.

"Is that him?" Beckett demanded, sitting up straight. One hand fell to her rounded belly, rubbing lightly. "Answer it."

"Right. Right." Fumbling, he dug the phone out of his pocket and thumbed it on. "Ryan. - Hey, Castle. - No, I'm at the precinct right now. Where are you?"

"Where is he?" Beckett repeated. She leaned forward, trying to hear. "Ryan. What did he say?"

"Castle, hang on. I'm putting you on speaker." He pressed the speakerphone icon and set the phone down on Beckett's desk.

"I said, I'm at the airport," came Castle's voice, distant and tinny. Beckett gave another little noise, and this time Ryan was pretty sure it was - oh crap - a sob.

"Which airport, damn you?" she asked, her voice quavering. Kevin averted his eyes.

"Kate?" Castle's tone softened, background noise fading away as he apparently moved to a quieter corner. "Honey, I'm sorry. For everything. I really am."

"Which airport, Castle?" Beckett repeated, still sounding on the verge of tears, even as the familiar annoyed snap tinged her words.

"Oh. Uh. The one in Honolulu, but I'm getting on a plane any minute now to come back," he replied earnestly. "Listen, Kate, I shouldn't have said those things. I shouldn't have run out on you like that. I, I'm such an idiot. I'm really sorry. Kate? Are you there?"

"I'm here," she agreed, watery. "How could you go all the way to Hawaii? Did you really need to get that far away from me?"

Ryan winced, wishing he could escape unnoticed. He mentally urged Castle not to screw this one up.

"No, god no," came the voice through the phone, and Ryan sighed silently with relief. "I was just drunk and stupid, that's all. A moment of extreme lunacy even for me. Honey, of course I don't want to get away from you. I _love_ you."

"I _hate_ you," Beckett sniffled in response. "This is all your fault, you and your stupid baby. Look what you've turned me into." She turned her damp eyes toward Ryan, seeking confirmation. He smiled defensively, helplessly.

It was bad enough dealing with Jenny when _she_ was pregnant. At least there he knew what his role was!

"I know," Castle was saying. "It's all my fault, and I'm going to make it up to you. I'm bringing you something back, for that one cup a day."

"What?" Beckett gasped - actually gasped, and sat up straighter, her eyes widening. "You don't mean-? Did you-?"

"Ten pounds of fresh roasted Kona coffee," he confirmed, and even Ryan's eyes widened at that. Holy crap, that was like a week's pay.

"Castle," Beckett sobbed in full anguish. "I didn't mean it. I don't hate you. I love you, and our baby. I love you so much," she wailed, reaching blindly for the box of tissues at the corner of her desk. Ryan hastily shoved it into her grasp and scooped up his phone.

"Hey, uh, how soon is your flight boarding?" he asked, tapping the icon to turn off the speakerphone. He sprang up out of the chair, pointedly not watching as his boss pulled out a handful of tissues and buried her face in them. "We could really use you here, man."

"Yeah. Sorry." Castle cleared his throat, embarrassed. "Um, boarding right now actually, but it's a ten-hour flight. Um. Is she, uh, is everything okay?"

Ryan snuck a glance across the room. Beckett was composing herself, soggy tissues littering her desk. "Yeah," he said cautiously. "Just get here."

"Roger that." Castle clicked off.

Ryan pocketed his phone, still carefully not looking at Beckett, until he heard the creak of her chair and the rustle of fabric that told him she was standing up. Then he turned, and found her fully back in control of herself, pulling her purse strap over her shoulder. Her pantsuit hugged her swollen belly proudly, like a scabbard enclosing a sword.

"Detective," she said, her voice firm again, nodding toward the door. Ryan moved quickly to open it, and she followed him out.

"Yo," said Esposito, approaching from the elevator. "What's with-" He stopped himself abruptly, catching Ryan's urgent head-shake behind their captain's back. Esposito quickly sized up the situation, carefully ignored the boss's red-rimmed eyes, and smoothly revised the ending of his sentence: "...that security-cam footage?"

"Yes," Beckett said decisively, spearing both detectives with her sharp gaze. "As soon as I get back from the ladies' room, I'll need an update on the Borland case."

"You got it, Cap," Espo replied, and Ryan nodded agreement, his head bobbing eagerly on his neck.

"Yep, we're on it."

"Good." And she strode off down the hallway, her heels clicking authoritatively.

Esposito turned to his partner, holding up his phone, which was displaying the text Ryan had hastily sent him a few minutes ago, just before Beckett arrived. "Dude, Hawaii? What the hell?"

"Don't ask," Ryan sighed, turning back toward his desk.

* * *

 _Author's Note: Yes, I did just recently say on tumblr that I would not accept fluffy pregnancy prompts because fluffy pregnancy fic is not my thing. This is still true. And yet, somehow, that's where this particular prompt took me. The muse moves in mysterious ways; one can but accept._


	15. Tie Me Up (Rated M)

**_* * * NOTE: This chapter is rated M. * * *_**

 _This was written for the September 2016 Castle Pornado on tumblr. The gif that prompted it is NSFW and you can see it on my tumblr if you so choose._

* * *

Before he met her, he had never imagined how hot it could be to see a woman wearing his tie and nothing else.

The first time was during that first summer, that glorious stretch of time when she was suspended from work and he was between books, when they had nothing at all to do, so they spent their days lazing around in bed, exploring each other's bodies, discovering all of their shared kinks.

One day he had to go to a meeting with his publishers, and when he came back to the loft wearing his suit, Beckett was waiting for him in the bedroom, already naked.

She wouldn't let him touch her as she stripped the suit off of him, slowly, taking plenty of time to tease with light caresses of her fingertips as more and more of his skin came into view. His hands flexed and clenched by his sides, fighting the powerful urge to grab her and just throw her onto the bed. His breathing was shallow, and he was already painfully hard by the time she had him naked - except for the tie. She left that item in place around his neck, wrapping it around her fist, using it to pull him down into a searing kiss. Too soon, she pulled her mouth from his and used the tie to lead him to the bed.

Pushing him onto his back, she slipped the tie off him and put it around her own neck, the fabric lying flat against her chest, between her breasts, covering up the tiny scar. He was riveted. He had never known that a tie could look so erotic.

Then she began to move. For long minutes she didn't touch him at all with her hands - just with the tie, the feather-light brush of the silk maddeningly arousing. She drew it across his thighs and upward, teasing at his stomach, circling his nipples, sliding across his lips, then downward again. When the tip of the tie slipped down the length of his shaft he couldn't hold back an impassioned groan, desperate for a firmer touch, for more friction.

He was reduced to begging by the time she had had enough of this teasing; he was panting, writhing on the bed, his whole body alight with desire, his erection throbbing painfully.

At last, at last she moved to straddle him, bringing her core into contact with his shaft. He groaned helplessly at how good it felt. She was dripping with her own desire, her slickness sliding along his shaft as she rotated her hips, her eyes half-closed with pleasure.

He watched as she lifted the tie with her hand, used it to tease at her breasts. She drew the fabric across her nipples, which were already tight and hard with arousal. She moaned sensuously as the silk slipped across her skin.

Then, all at once, she shifted her hips and sank down on him.

He cried out in ecstasy at the suddenness of it, the tight wet heat of her body engulfing him; and then she began to move, riding him with strong rhythmic thrusts of her hips. Her breasts bounced, and the tie bounced in the air between them, dangling from her neck. The tips of it brushed his lower belly on each stroke, a tiny maddening tickle that drove him higher and higher as she rode him.

She had teased him for so long, and so skillfully, that he couldn't hold out for very long. Within moments he was groaning, shuddering with the effort of holding back his climax. Seeing his tension, she abandoned her own restraint and slid her hand down her stomach, touching herself, making herself shudder and gasp. He felt her fingers brush his shaft and that was the last straw; he climaxed explosively, pouring himself out into her. She let herself fall forward onto his chest, grinding herself down on him, trembling and shuddering as her own release took her over. The tie was crumpled between them, sticking to their sweaty chests.

It was a long while before either of them could move again.

The next day, he decided that it was his turn. Again naked except for the tie, he undressed her as slowly as she had him, teasing with delicate touches the same way she had done; but when she was naked, and expecting him to slip the tie around her neck again, he surprised her by dropping his hands down her arms and tightening the loop of the tie around her wrists instead.

Excitement flared hot in her eyes, and he saw her skin flush pink with arousal, but he paused just to be sure - they hadn't played with bondage very much yet - "Okay?" he murmured, and "Oh yeah," she breathed, and there were no more words after that. Just moans and gasps, her body pinned to the bed, her bound hands above her head, and his body covering hers, taking her hard and fast, the perfect counterpoint to how mercilessly she had teased him the day before.

After that, they got themselves some real cuffs, padded for their comfort; but the tie still came to bed with them on occasion. He never got tired of watching her ride him while wearing it. It became one of his favorite sights.

He could never wear that tie outside of the bedroom again.


End file.
